


one track in a parallel universe

by kirakirakirari



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Not really angsty, but it's not happy either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 17:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirakirakirari/pseuds/kirakirakirari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-- the memory is white-hot, and the lights of New York are too bright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one track in a parallel universe

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta-ed. unedited. typo. grammar. i don't know
> 
> my writing is down gdi.

_Really want to hold you tightly in my arms_

_To hold on the courage that I never managed to express_

_I used to dream about conquering the world_

_Only realize that in the end  
_

_Every little thing in my world revolves around you only_

**_-Those Years - Hu Xia_ **

* * *

There are many American lotuses near his house, and the color is almost overwhelming in his eyes, but the lights of New York city don't normally allow anything else to be brighter, more attention-catching, more beautiful. But when the sun sets and the star twinkle, the moon scatters its light on the yellow petals, he thinks the lotuses are the loveliest.

Toris smiles, and paints the skyline of the city onto his palm.

(Many years ago, she'd be here with him, staring at his palm as if it was another wonder of the world and asked him why he did that. But years of sweet school life have come and gone and he remembers his many literature classes. Isn't this how even the strongest empire fall?)

He's waiting, but at the same time, he isn't.

It's been brilliant to run away, he thinks  _blue would be nice,_ because Toris is used to going to many places, whenever not to encounter her suddenly. But Toris is always the kind of person that expects something unexpected, therefore, he also prepares for the moment when she suddenly appears in front of his eyes. (She will, and he knows that.) He has always prepared for that moment, when he stops running and hiding and when she stands (back straight, head held high, eyes cold enough to burn) - and together they face their biggest fears even if it means losing the entire fight.

 _I'm used to losing._ She'd say.  _But it doesn't mean I will always lose. Toris, where do you run when you've got nowhere to go?_ She'd ask him, because it's better than ask herself, right?

Therefore, he isn't surprised when there is someone knocking on his door, when he's supposed to feel nervous - oh, he misses being seventeen. The voice speaks his name, murmured, a question - he smiles, because it's so like her, always afraid that he wouldn't let her in. Old ghosts are really terrifying that way - it feels like million of years but in reality, it's only a half and a month since they started dancing around each other and running circle.

"Toris," She says, louder this time and there's steel in her voice (he wonders how long she can last). Her eyes flash amber in the light of his room, the same way her hair turns almost brown. It would be a shame, Toris suppresses a sigh, because she looks the most beautiful with her hair as black as the night. Everything about her looks different from the girl he recalls standing next to him and says she likes him. (Toris is good, Toris is kind, and Toris loves Lien and Toris remembers that his only wish is that when he misses her, the memories will not pain him too much.)

"Can I help you?"

He doesn't say 'Long time no see' and 'How're you?' because they both know too well how the reply will be. The best way to go with Lien is to be frank, as straight to the point as possible, and she appreciates it. Also, they've gotten past formalities for a long time. If she still knows him like he thinks she does, then she will understand that he doesn't mean it. Because when what he says means something, it usually means too much, and it will scare her, being receiving end of affection.

She's silent for a little too long, maybe wondering if she should greet him with a smile (but the corner of her lips stays still), watching him as he slides his paintbrush aimlessly across his finger (he must have had something to draw before she comes, right?). Green for the color of leaves, of hope, the color of her dress. This time, Toris doesn't even bother to sigh anymore when everything relates back to her.

_(Why do we still remember?)_

_"_ Toris..."  _Why do you run away? Why didn't you stay? Why ... "_ You're still painting."

This is clearly not what she wanted to ask, but when you meet someone you've been wanting to meet after such a long time (a month and a half, a lifetime) you suddenly don't know what to say anymore. He isn't hesitant to let her know that he knows it.

"Yes." He smiles and waits. Her eyes brighten a little, so maybe he still does something right. "When you have travelled for some time, you'll miss where you've gone to." But he isn't painting the trees in Russia, isn't painting the cherry blossom in Japan. He is painting some letters, pointless and seemingly endlessly boring.

(He loves seeing places, Toris admits, though not as much as he loves her.)

"We've been looking for you." She says, rolling her eyes, and he decides to pretend that he doesn't understand the 'I've been looking for you' left unsaid. "Alfred refuses to have a wedding without your attendance. What an idiot, it's his wedding. And you too, I can't believe you're in New York and ignores his invitation!"

"I'm sure he'll listen to Arthur. Please tell him that I may not be able to attend." He returns to his hands without missing a beat, continuing to dot up his fingers because their conversations have had the tendency to go to nowhere for the past two years. He doesn't even notice that she's taken a seat opposite to him until she actually does. It's somewhat startling, because Toris can notice everything, especially things about Lien, the way she twirls her hair when she's nervous, the way she clenches her fist before taking a deep breath while telling herself to be calm, the way she held back her tears when her brothers had a fall out - Until her fingers touch his paintbrush and without even thinking, he gives it to her.

(He feels the ghost of her fingers on his palm)

"What're you going to draw?" He asks, because curiosity wins over his rationality, and she pauses, look at his unpainted hands.

"Whatever you want me to." She replies, dipping the paintbrush into the cup of water next to him. She does it so casually, like an artist, if he doesn't know the reality.

"You're... not good at painting." Terrible, even. She dabs it into a pool of green paint.

"Only in comparison to you. There is no way I can be bad at this."

"Your brother is an excellent artist, but it doesn't mean you are."

"I've learnt from him enough."

"Oh?"

"Don't think you're better. It was true, but not anymore."

Years ago, at the age of fifteen, sixteen and seventeen, he might have blushed, because giving compliment without sounding like it has been Lien's specialty. Those years, he was in love - and the seventeen boy in him may still want to. But he merely smiles, let her paint his hands, and waits. It only takes him a minute to realise that she's writing instead of drawing.

He should have known, really, because Lien is terrible at drawing.

"Can I guess the color?" She asks him, and he's forced to look into her eyes instead of her hands, and he forgets to refuse.

"Go ahead." He says, hiding the smile that threatens to appear. "Do you still remember them?"

"If I remember correctly, will go come back and attend the wedding?"

Everything has to come back to this, eventually.

"I'll think -" She's looking at him, intently, and the refusal fails to be said. "Okay... If you say so."

She doesn't look happy, but he chooses not to think about it.

"T is brown, soft, and a little too dark, like your favorite sweater." He laughs, nodding. It's really alarming, how she still remembers while he's trying to throw her off-balance. Maybe she knows he's doing that too, but she likes his smile too much to tell him to stop. If there is someone Toris knows about Lien, it's that she has soft spot for his smile. (The paint on his other hand is now dry, enough to run his hand through her hair without worrying about having to wash it out later.)

There is no pointing in busy himself, right? She knows all too well.

"O is amber. The color of -"

"Your eyes." He adds, his voice sounds so quiet that he's almost surprised. Her hand holding the paintbrush pauses a little (is she catching her breath?), but she starts tracing designs on the unpainted part of his hands so quickly that it looks like his imagination. To be honest, Toris somehow prefers that way. It'd be difficult, if her mask broke.

"My eyes aren't amber. My brother's are."

"They're in here."

"Toris."

The way she says his name reminds him painfully of the way they used to be - or the way they should have been. Two teenagers, dreaming of becoming king and queen to conquer the world, breaking the abyss and tearing down gods -

"Yes?"

Now he's the one that struggles not to catch his breath. Her fingers are alarmingly cold when they touch him, and Toris thinks he should have closed the window upon knowing she would come.

"R is light tea blue, I is key lime, R is deep lilac."

She does remember.

"Excellent." He remarks, as if that comes remotely close to everything he wants to say. "Where're you staying?"

"The hotel nearby, the 15th floor. I saw you this afternoon from that height."

He laughs, doesn't really know whether he should admire her eyesight or be aware of the way she makes it sound like pouting.

"Yeah, do you need me to walk you back?"

"No. You should go to bed."

"Probably." He agrees, watching her as she slides away and stands up. She drops the paintbrush in the cup of water, and it takes him a bit of willpower not to ask her to stay with him tonight, or tomorrow, or until Alfred's wedding. (Or forever, but how long is forever? After killing the one they once were, what does forever even mean?)

"And you've promised me. I will tell Alfred... I still don't get why he chooses New York to get married."

He sends her a look, reminiscent of the ones she used to give him when they were young and close and knew each other inside and out - "He lives here."

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. Doesn't Natalya prefers Texas?"

He shrugs, turning his eyes back to the lake of lotuses and the glittering lights of New York. "It's a beautiful city to get married, I suppose."

(Lien never likes cities, Toris thinks of the memories and suppresses a smile. Too busy, too noisy, she says, full of lies that can be sensed miles away. Body close, breath together, but minds are always world apart. But it's natural, he supposes, for people to dream of things beyond galaxies.)

"You think so?" She says, after a moment of silence that seems to fill the universe.

"Yes, I do."

It's silence again, and they keep staring at each other. The look in her eyes make him think of those days again, of them together, tearing the sky, conquering the space, millions of years far away -

(no altar, no music, no flowers, no white dress, just two of them.)

(and no happy-ever-after)

"Good night, Toris."

Click. Door closed. He doesn't say it back.


End file.
